


019 "our song"

by wheel_pen



Series: Iron Man AU [19]
Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fish out of Water, My Pepper is different, Pre-Iron Man, alternative universe, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 22:38:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A dinner gathering of co-workers is the opportunity for Tony to mention that his and Pepper's 'song' is "Every Breath You Take" by the Police, which they dance to while Tony interrogates her about the motives of a newly-hired executive who seems interested in her, if not necessarily interested in the book she's been reading about frogs. "You hit on Pepper, expect Tony to hit you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	019 "our song"

**Author's Note:**

> 1) My Pepper is very different from canon Pepper. Her personality/origin is very different; to separate her from canon Pepper I've given her a new last name and a different hair color.
> 
> 2) The bad words are censored. That's just how I do things.
> 
> 3) Stories are numbered in the order I wrote them, which isn't necessarily the order in which they occur. At some point I'll post a timeline.
> 
> I wrote this series after the first Iron Man movie came out. It's very AU but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play with these characters.

            The restaurant had a decent live band, a fantastic salmon filet, and an atmosphere well-balanced between 'nice' and 'casual,' making it nearly perfect for after-hours gatherings of co-workers. Today Obadiah was buying so I told Pepper to order as much as she wanted. His eyes widened just a tiny bit when he heard my comment, but really he needn't have worried; one thing Pepper had down pretty well was table manners. Usually when we were out she was very strict about eating only a 'normal' amount of food—then we'd go home and order a couple of pizzas. Buffets proved too tempting, however—learned that one the hard way.

            About a dozen of us were out that night celebrating a couple of new hires, department heads we'd poached from other companies that we expected great things from. One of them was sitting next to Pepper farther down the table and my repeated glances found them keeping up the conversation surprisingly well. No one else had their PA with them, of course. For one, there was a hierarchy of social gatherings and this was definitely an 'executive' level dinner. For another, most people weren't as self-centered and demanding as I was and would've actually let their PA go home to the rest of their life. But Pepper _had_ no other life. And I liked to have her with me as much as possible. The six feet between us at the table was even a little much for my comfort.

            We were about halfway through eating when some familiar notes began emanating from the speakers. I dropped my fork and my conversation immediately. "Pepper, it's our song! Come on!" She dutifully rose from her chair, not that I gave her much choice as I grabbed her hand and pulled her to the dance floor. It was currently occupied by only three or four bold couples, probably out for a married 'date night' by the looks of them and determined to get the most value out of their childfree time as possible. Fortunately I was also bold and didn't hesitate to take Pepper in my arms (at least for dancing purposes, in public).

            'Our song' is "Every Breath You Take" by the Police. I decided it was 'our song' after Pepper and I had a long conversation about the meaning of the lyrics. My side was armed with multiple references attesting to the song's totalitarian-government overtones and the sinister, obsessive nature of the love it displayed if it even _was_ a love song. I mean, "I'll be watching you"? "Can't you see you belong to me"? Total stalker nutjob.

            Pepper's contribution consisted mostly of, "I like it. I think it's comforting. It reminds me of you." Which basically ended any debate and cemented it in my mind as 'our song.' Sometimes at home I even sang it to her, usually over the intercom so it followed her from room to room. She seemed to enjoy this.

            Yeah, I know, but we both seemed to be twisted more or less in the same direction, so it worked.

            "So the new guy seems really into you," I observed, mostly achieving my goal of neutrality. We _were_ dancing to a stalker love song, so I figured my point was made. "What do you think of him?"

            "He smells like cheese," Pepper decided.

            "Is that good or bad?" Could go either way, really.

            "Just an observation."

            "So what are you guys talking about?" I pressed, pulling her a little closer.

            "I was telling him about a book I just read, about frogs," Pepper reported, with the tiniest trace of enthusiasm that probably wouldn't be detectable to anyone else on the planet.

            "Wow. Frogs, huh." Pepper's only hobby, unless you counted eating, was reading, and the number of topics she was interested in was staggering. It was impossible to guess what would come out of her mouth when I asked her what she was reading, which I found refreshing. Still, not everyone had motives as pure as mine. "Did his eyes kind of go up and down a lot while you were talking?"

            "Like yours do?"

            "Yes."

            She shrugged. "I guess so."

            As I thought. "He wasn't listening to you talk about frogs," I pointed out, in a man-of-the-world sort of way. "He's just checking you out."

            "Oh." She seemed a little disappointed. Apparently Pepper was more fond of the topic of frogs than I had realized.

            The world was a harsh place indeed. But I was willing to offer her some comfort. " _I'll_ listen to you talk about frogs," I told her gallantly. This brought a smile to her face. Of course I couldn't live with being _too_ gallant. "Can I put my hand on your a-s while you talk?"

            This changed her smile to one that was a little more smirky. "If you like. But when PR calls tomorrow with a tabloid picture and wants to know why your hand is on my a-s, I'm going to tell them it's because we were talking about frogs."

            I didn't quite manage to maintain a straight face. "Fair enough," I agreed, lowering the hand that had been resting on her back. "Pepper, talk to me about frogs."

            She took a breath. "Well, they recently discovered a species in South America with retractable claws made of bone that pierce its skin when they come out…"

            Meanwhile, back at the table, the following exchange occurred (my spies are everywhere). The new guy cast envious glances upon the couple on the dance floor, a question building in his mind. He turned to the veteran co-worker he knew best, the one who had masterminded his escape from the clutches of his previous company, and asked him for counsel.

            "So are they… dating?"

            Obadiah smirked in that condescending way of his. How often had he heard _that_ question? "Not exactly," was his standard answer, which to those who were paying attention left a whole lot out.

            People with their eyes on Pepper usually _weren't_ paying attention, though. "Is there a company policy against a department head asking out a PA from another department?" Like he was just randomly curious.

            Obadiah's smirk grew into a full-fledged evil grin. Sometimes he gave people the warning, sometimes he didn't (I knew this from personal experience)—it depended on which outcome better served his purposes. In this case he'd spent a lot of time and money acquiring the new guy and didn't want to lose him any time soon. "There's a company policy in specific cases," he confirmed. "For example, you hit on Pepper, expect Tony to hit _you_." _That_ got the new guy's attention, and hopefully put him back in his place. Which was away from Pepper.

            An hour and several Scotches later we were all grateful for the 'casual' part of the 'nice-casual' atmosphere, as we had finally loosened up from the professionalism displayed at the office. Except for me, because I was _always_ loose.

            "No s—t!" exclaimed the new guy, who was now sitting by me. "How do they get stoned from _frogs_? Do they smoke them?"

            This only confirmed to me that he hadn't really been listening to Pepper earlier. Checking a woman out while _also_ listening to her was not a talent many men possessed (I did). "No, no, dude, they _lick_ them!" I corrected knowledgeably.

            "No s—t?" He gave me a sharp look. "That's insane. Who would lick a frog? You're pullin' this outta your a-s."

            "Am not!" I insisted indignantly.

            "Looked like he pulled it out of Pepper's," Obadiah observed dryly, with enviable coherence. I didn't think he'd been drinking as much as the rest of us.

            The table erupted in laughter despite me telling them to shut up. "Look, if you're all gonna talk about Pepper's a-s," I declared, standing, "I'm gonna take it home. Er, _her_ home. Pepper, where's my coat?"

            "You didn't have one, sir," she informed me politely, ever by my side.

            "Good, go get it," I ordered, then told the rest of the diners what they could go do with themselves. Not in a mean way, though, more in a brotherly, intoxicated kind of way. Wouldn't want people to think I go bats—t crazy _every_ time someone talked about Pepper.


End file.
